


The Courtship Rituals of H. sapiens sapiens

by a_pocket_full_of_fancy_words



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Awkward Romance, Bad Flirting, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Kittens, M/M, Miscommunication, Rating May Change, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-03 20:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_pocket_full_of_fancy_words/pseuds/a_pocket_full_of_fancy_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Spock. </p><p>A How To guide.</p><p>Contents:</p><p>Flirting - Establishing Mutual Interest<br/>Compliments and Endearments<br/>Gift Giving<br/>"Romance" and "Dating"<br/>Kissing<br/>Claiming - Public Displays of Affection<br/>Mating<br/>Marking<br/>Cohabitation</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flirting: Establishing Mutual Interest

“The temperature is comfortable for me, Doctor.” He says seriously, like he says everything.

Doctor McCoy is already bereft of his black undershirt, his blue scrubs sticking to his sweating skin as he paces the bridge to the turbolift. “Well I s’pose it’s hardly surprisin’ you like the heat with pointed ears like that!”

Taking off his own undershirt, Sulu laughs at Spock’s raised eyebrow. “Don’t worry about it Commander, he’s only flirting with you.”

Spock can’t help but look quizzical at that. This is fine because curiosity is not an emotion, simply a driving force behind scientific exploration. “Flirting?”

But the lieutenant seems unwilling to elaborate further, and Spock is forced to consult the language banks to ensure that he has the correct definition.

_Flirting is a social and sometimes sexual activity involving verbal or written communication as well as body language by one person to another, suggesting an interest in a deeper relationship with the other person. In most cultures, it is socially disapproved for a person to make explicitly sexual advances, but indirect or suggestive advances (i.e., flirting) may at times be considered acceptable. Flirting usually involves speaking and behaving in a way that suggests a mildly greater intimacy than the actual relationship between the parties would justify, though within the rules of social etiquette, which generally disapproves of a direct expression of sexual interest. This may be accomplished by communicating a sense of playfulness or irony… Challenges (teasing, questions, qualifying, and feigned disinterest) serve to increase tension, test intention and congruity. The word “flirt” is Standard and descends from pre-warp English, “flirt” of the same meaning. Flirtation is a common aspect of courtship in many human cultures and a full list of species known to practice flirtation can be accessed by voice command._

Fascinating. Teasing, questions, qualifying and feigned disinterest. Was the Doctor indeed displaying “interest in a deeper relationship” with him? And was he, by participating, inadvertently encouraging such advances? Perhaps McCoy had begun “flirting” with him in response to Spock’s own apparent courtship. Why, indeed, had Spock began this discourse? These thoughts could not be allowed to trouble him. But they were worthy of further research.

 


	2. Compliments and Endearments

“Mother,” It has been almost a six months since their last conversation, but Amanda looks the same as ever on the screen in his quarters.

“Spock!” She smiles, “It’s so good to see you and to hear your voice!”

“I wished to ask you a question.” He is vaguely aware that he should perhaps appear more pleased to see her – he is pleased – but it does not come naturally to him as it does her.

Amanda is by now used to this and makes no comment. “What is it darling?”

For some reason, the topic is already making him uncomfortable and he has yet to broach it. It is illogical, and he is certain that his mother sees him twitch and his hands behind his back, but he is safe with her and she ignores it. “I wished to ask about the nature of human courtship – specifically about…”

“Oh Spock!” She exclaims at him, eyes twinkling. “You know you can ask me anything! Come on, out with it!”

He wrings his hands tightly behind his back. “Flirtation. And… How to… Progress… I…”

He is blushing, a fact that only makes his abject humiliation worse. His mother finds this adorable, he can tell, see her trying not to laugh and failing. “Mother!”

“Okay, okay, Spock.” She’s grinning ear to ear, something he hasn’t seen in years. “Well… Flirting is just something people do to show others that they like them and test to see if that person likes them back. You know, teasing, compliments, special nicknames or endearments.”

“I see.” He is struggling not to glare. “And how does it progress? What does one do to… I do not know how to explain.”

“Well, you up the ante.”

“We – one plays poker?” He questions. He has heard this phrase before, but is unfamiliar with its meaning and there has been no one he wished to ask – however, the situation requires it.

“No! You raise the stakes! Confirm your interest so it can’t be mistaken.” For some reason, she too is blushing. “Typically, you make it obvious that your intentions are sexual.” She looks at him for a moment and then she decides she needs further clarification. “Indirectly.”

“Indirectly? How does one establish interest without stating it?”

She sighs at him. “You compliment the person on things about their appearance that you like; you… _Imply_ that you might want to have sex with them.”

“I see.” He repeats. Her continued mirth is displeasing to him and he raises the ta’al to indicate the end of the conversation. “Live long and prosper, mother.”

“Peace and long life, sweetheart.” They both sign off.

How embarrassing.

 

 

“Well perhaps if you weren’t so goddamn bent on hiding your emotions we wouldn’t have _needed_ rescuin’ in the first place! All you had to do was show remorse!” The doctor waves his arms as he talks on the way out of the debriefing room.

“Your eyes are a pleasant shade of blue caused by a lack of the pigment melanin in the iris or ocular fluid.” Spock tells him and proceeds to step into the turbolift.

“Yeah well- What?” McCoy turns around to him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The doors slide shut, neatly excusing Spock from the obligation of replying. “Deck five.”

 


	3. Gift Giving

“And then he gave me a diamond necklace!” Chapel exclaimed, her face one of horror and not the delight Spock had been led to expect from old movies.

“Oh God, on the second date?” Uhura also sounds displeased.

He does not want to interrupt, but he has to know. “It offends you to receive gifts from one you are courting?”

Chapel notices that he is on the observation deck and jumps, but she smiles at him. “Well no, but it’s too big! Lots of little presents is one thing, but big things just come with so much obligation.”

“Obligation?” He had thought that gift giving, whilst frequently mutual, was meant to imply a desire to provide for someone without the need for material or monetary reciprocation.

Uhura smiles at him remedially. “We all know that they’re just little bribes, Spock,” She laughs. “We’d just prefer the choice to ignore that fact if we want to without having to feel guilty. Men think that just because they’re nice to us they’re owed sex.” She laughs but there is force behind it, a hint of threat.

“In that case the rejection of large and expensive gifts does seem logical.” He confirms for them, but his mind is already working on what he should get for Leonard.

He has just the things.

 

 

“Jim,” Bones stops him in the corridor just outside sickbay and draws him into his office. “I have kinda a problem.”

“You’ve kind of got a problem?” Jim asks him.

“Well it’s kind of a problem.” Leonard amends for him. He looks uncomfortable, like perhaps he wants to laugh or run away screaming.

“Oh. Well, what’s “kind of” problematic about it?”

Bones opens his mouth to explain and then seems to change his mind. “Come with me.” He says instead, and leads him to his quarters.

 

 

The first thing Jim notices when he enters Bones' quarters is a single blue-eyed, grey tabby kitten. It skitters away, but it isn't fast enough to escape Jim, who scoops it up, unable to resist.

“It's adorable! There's no rules against a ship cat, Bones, it's a naval tradition.” The tiny claws stab into his shirt and skin as the tiny creature attempts to climb him.

“That's... not my only problem.” Bones shuffles further into the room.

“Oh?” The kitten scales Jim's clothes, making a break for the ground, and he disentangles it from his pants leg and picks it up again, keeping a loose hold on its scruff to prevent another escape.

“Look under my bed.”

Jim doesn't need to; when he rounds the divider between the living area and the bedroom, two fat little legs are poking out from under it.

“There's two?” He asks.

“There's _seven_. There are seven cats in my room.” McCoy scowls, as much as one can scowl with such an abundance of kittens.

Jim looks at him for a moment. “Well... That's not a bad problem to have. Where did they come from?”

Bones shrugs. “They were just here in the basket on the desk when I got off shift.”

“A present?” Jim speculates. “A failed attempt at sabotage? A particularly troublesome tribble infestation?”

Leonard shrugs again. "I've no idea, but it's gonna be a couple months before they're any use for pest control."

 

 

“Mr Spock,” Jim says as they pass in the corridor. “I know this might sound strange, but you haven't seen anyone around here with a cat have you?”

Spock blinks. “Why, Captain?”

“Oh, it's not important,” Jim rubs his eyes, lips twitching between a soft frown and a smile. “Bones just found a whole bunch of kittens in his room.”

“I see.” Spock straightens slightly, suddenly not wanting to confess to his earlier actions. It is illogical, but also true.

Jim doesn't press though, takes his response as a negation and carries on his way, leaving Spock to wonder if kittens are a problem. Were they not appropriate, many small gifts?

 

 

“If you do not desire the kittens I will take them back.” He says when McCoy opens the door.

Leonard blinks at him. “What? What do you mean, take 'em back?”

Spock twitches. “I will retrieve them and they shall no longer trouble you.” He reiterates.

McCoy folds his arms. “Come in before they escape. You know that's not what I was asking. You put all these cats in my room?”

It is a direct question and one that Spock cannot avoid – if he refuses to answer, he will be assumed to be the culprit nonetheless. He will not lie. “I did.”

Leonard runs a hand through his hair, a look of surprise clear on his face. Mercifully, he does not look angry. “Why?”

“I was informed that lots of small gifts were preferable to a large one.” He replies vaguely.

McCoy regards him for a moment, stunned into silence. At any other time, Spock might consider this a victory; now it makes him nervous. For a logician, he has fallen short.

“Okay, two things here, Spock. First, why did you feel the need to get me a gift? My birthday is in four months, not that you ever get me anything anyway. And two, what would you have got me if it were one big present? A Bengal Tiger?”

“Celebrating one's birthday is illogical, Doctor. As is bringing a large and critically endangered carnivore aboard a Starship.”

Spock's deflection is not enough. “What I'm askin' is why getting me a bunch of kittens _was_ logical. Why did you need to get me anything?”

“A gift is an item given without the stipulation of monetary reimbursement. The intentions may be to solidify social bonds, as part of a custom or celebration, to express solidarity, love, friendship or piety. They may serve as a form of ensurance or economy.” He recounts. He does not mention that it is considered part of the courtship rituals of many human and alien cultures.

“Why did _you_ get _me_ these kittens?” McCoy gestures broadly to the room, where bundles of fur are hidden in small places.

Spock swallows. “I was informed that the giving of small gifts was a normal part of human courtship.”

“Courtship?” The doctor sounds incredulous, so much so that Spock is almost forced to crush a feeling of shame. “You're courting me?”

He purses his lips and turns toward the door. A small grey feline is obstructing his passage and he picks it up. “I apologise. I will remove the animals from your quarters.”

He finds another on a shelf and hooks it onto his shirt by the claws. When he turns to check his exit, McCoy is standing in it holding the blue tabby.

“Spock, I can't keep seven kittens in here. In a couple of months they'll be seven cats, and cats need territory.”

Spock looks down at the mammals he is holding, feeling like a schooled child.

“I'm sure other people on the ship will want them.”

Spock nods and continues his collection, until he has one kitten on his shoulder, two slung over his right arm and three hooked awkwardly under their front legs over his left.

He approaches the door and attempts to divest Leonard of the remaining cat, but he has no free arms.

McCoy pulls the grey tabby out of reach. “I'll keep this one.”

Spock nods and squeezes past, out of the door, checking the corridor is empty before beginning his walk of shame back to his own quarters.

“Spock!” McCoy calls after him. He turns back, but does not approach, and so Leonard comes out into the hallway, cat in hand. “Hey... I just thought maybe, you'd uh, you wanted to go on a date. Another “human courtship” thing. It bit less catty.”

Spock juggles kittens with as much dignity as he can scrape together. “That sounds acceptable.”

“Acceptable!” Leonard scoffs, but he is already slipping back through his own door, taking his new addition with him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will probably be a little while before I have time to update this, but please review and subscribe if you liked it! :)


	4. "Romance" and "Dating"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating is not logical.

The concept of dating is one he has encountered before but never really understood. He supposed that its purpose was in place of the numerous compatibility tests, the most effective of which would have been a simple mind meld with McCoy.

Having suggested as much to Leonard, he was sternly rebuffed. “Spock! You don't go on a date with someone to plan your life and settle down!”

And now he really does not understand, because for all his research, settling down with someone seemed to be the aim, even in whimsical human culture; he hardly thought McCoy the type to whip through relationships like the serial monogamist they each served under. He doesn't need to ask, knows his blank look is enough to trigger an exasperated explanation.

“Look,” Says Leonard, in a manner that is simultaneously diplomatic and patronising. “It's not about “creating a stable familial unit” or “ensuring maximum compatibility between potential mates”, it's about enjoying each other's company and having fun with whatever we do have for as long as it lasts.”

“I see.” He doesn't, but he tries to.

“No you don't. You ain't had a lick of fun in your life! Pointed eared asshole, this is gonna be terrible.” The response is strong and entirely expected.

“Really, doctor?” And something thrummed inside of him, a tiny spark of realisation that _this_ was why he was approaching Leonard and not Jim. With Jim he was challenged, stimulated, and ultimately Jim was his soul mate, _t'hy'la._ He had known for some time, that Jim was his best friend and more. With Leonard McCoy, Spock had fun. Perhaps the only fun he had ever had in his life that didn't leave a lingering taste of guilt in his mouth; guilt in excess, frivolity he should not allow. Leonard amuses him and his teasing, his _flirting_ , is the perfect balance of humanity and mental exercise he needs. “Than perhaps we should cancel our dinner this evening, and spare ourselves the expense.”

McCoy looks at him, gazing into his eyes in an attempt to gauge his seriousness. “Well hold on just one second. Someone's gotta show you how, 'case you ever need to know in the future. I'll just have to put myself on the line.”

“Indeed. I shall expect a most educational experience, then.” And with that, he made his exit in order to prepare himself.

 

He hadn't wished to involve Jim in any way at such an early stage, lest he expose himself to teasing or well-meaning attempts to illicit what humans frequently considered a cathartic display of emotion later, but Spock was genuinely at a loss.

“You're going for a meal?”

“Correct.”

“With Bones.”

It was not a question, but he still answered, “Affirmative.”

“Without me?”

“...Yes.”

“You're going on a date?” Jim's face is incredulous, and Spock is momentarily concerned that he may be in need of medical attention.

“...We are.”

“You're going on a date with Bones?”

There is a slight tightness in Spock's throat, as though this is a betrayal somehow. Perhaps one day it will be so. “I am. Will this be a problem?”

Jim shakes his head, perhaps a little too quickly. “No, no. Of course not. But, ah, why have you asked me to come to your quarters? You didn't even need to tell me."

Of course Spock needs to tell him. He does not believe the statement merits a response. “Because I am... At a loss as to how to present myself, and I trusted that you as my closest friend,” And yes, he did “play that card,” as Jim himself was fond of remarking, “Would be willing to help me.”

After a moment, Jim's face breaks out of its seriousness and he grins. “You're scared! You're scared of a date with Bones!”

Spock twitches at the statement of truth and sidesteps it expertly. “Illogical. Doctor McCoy is incapable of harming me, and has indeed taken a vow forbidding him from doing so. However, your aide in matters of dress and etiquette would be greatly appreciated.”

Jim picks up on the not-lie, Spock is certain, and how could he not? But he nonetheless lets it slide. “Alright then, where are you going? Let's get you sorted out.”

 

 

Despite its relative proximity to both Earth and Vulcan, Spock has never been to the Alpha Centauri colony before. He feigns business down on the planet so as to go ashore half an hour early and save himself the bickering beam down that is certain to take place. He spends the time scouting out the area for no real reason other than to learn more about the culture, which as a colony is disappointingly Earth-like, with the difference being a greater population of non-Terrans, and hence a wider variety of imported non-luxury items, none of which he purchases, since Leonard was only partially enamoured with his previous gift.

He arrives in the restaurant ten minutes early, and concentrates on looking more relaxed than he truly feels. In the end, he is wearing fleet regulation trousers and boots and a loose grey jumper, a favourite of his for when uniform is either unnecessary or not permitted. It is something Leonard has seen before, most likely more than once, but it is, he has decided, of little consequence.

His gamble pays off; when McCoy arrives, he is relaxed, in comfortable clothing, and already part way into his glass of water in their little booth at the mid-range restaurant. As Jim had said, “posh enough to be date-material but not so high end you can't wear that sweater.”

Leonard on the other hand, is also dressed in a sweater – blue, as though he has lost the ability to choose any other colour – but looks, to put it mildly, terrified, fidgeting and looking wildly around as though Spock might have stood him up.

Whilst Jim had informed him that Leonard was one for tradition and that chivalry might be appreciated, Spock opts to keep his calm and indicates to an Andorian waitress that McCoy is with him. She leads him over and he slides in opposite, passing him a menu.

Spock has rehearsed what to say at this point, but it is the waitress who talks first. “Hello officers,” She must recognise them from the news. “I'm afraid we've run out of steak for this evening, but all our other dishes are available. Would you like to order some drinks?”

McCoy clears his throat several times. “We'll, uh, we'll need a couple more minutes.”

She makes a noise of agreement and disappears into the busy room, leaving the pair of them alone.

“Hello, Leonard.” Spock's dialogue goes out of the metaphorical window, and he hears his throat click as he speaks. Fascinating.

McCoy surpasses him in discomfiture, his head bobbing down as though acknowledging an acquaintance in the street. It flutters something in Spock's stomach, Leonard looking like that for him. “Hi...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the slow updates! Bear with me, I shan't abandon any fic unfinished!


	5. Kissing, or the time Leonard slips Spock the tongue and he doesn't know what to do with it.

Spock is unfamiliar with how to end a date; he has ordered a dessert as he has in the past been told that Terran diners will rarely order a course that others are not eating, even if they should desire it themselves.

He hasn't eaten profiteroles before; they prove surprisingly difficult to eat and he had not been aware that they were coated in an intoxicant. Nonetheless, it was hard not to enjoy sweetness and cream. He found himself relaxed from the chocolate, easing into their conversation right up until the word “coffee” had been mentioned by the waitress.

Coffee, you see, is the final course.

After coffee, food is no longer the focus of their evening, and Spock is required to do... Something. And he doesn't know what.

He sips his spiced tea and Leonard drinks what Spock considers to be sugared cream with the addition of a shot of espresso – Leonard, he discovers, does not drink black coffee – and struggles to recall what precisely humans do at the conclusion of a “date”.

“You're awfully quiet, Spock,” Leonard shakes him from his reverie. “Something troublin' you?”

Unfortunately, Leonard has his way of preventing Spock's entirely Vulcan habit of circumventing a lie. Spock is not a liar and does not intend to become one for the sake of a date. “Yes. I believe there are certain actions those on a “date” are supposed to take at its conclusion, but I have failed to remember them.”

“Well,” The doctor licks his dairy-based beverage from his lips. “Spock, there's nothing you _have_ to do at the end of a date. You just do what you want to do.”

“Fascinating,” Spock raises an eyebrow critically. “Your final statement would seem to suggest that there is indeed something you wish me to do, but that you refuse to state its nature. Quite illogical.”

And because Spock has encouraged him, Leonard must of course defend, which involves further attempts at lying. The trademark scowl slides into place over a twinkle of humour in his eye. He points with his finger as he often does, but this time it jabs straight into Spock's chest. “I suggested no such thing! You're reading too much into everything I say because you haven't done your homework and you're not used to being caught short!”

“I do not understand your use of metaphor and idiom.” Spock informs him remedially.

“You wouldn't. Now drink your sweet tea and I'll get the bill.”

 _It is not sweet tea._ Spock thinks to himself, but manages to say nothing.

The bill arrives, and with it a new debate as to who shall pay. Spock is certain that he should do so; his wages are the same, but unlike Leonard he rarely uses them recreationally, and has accrued more excess in the way of “savings”. When it becomes clear that he will not relent, Leonard compromises and suggests that they “go Dutch,” which appears to be the culture on Earth that invented the concept of splitting a bill. This is acceptable.

 

They are standing outside of the restaurant, and Leonard's wet breath is misting on the cool air. Spock has, in spite of their heated conversation, enjoyed himself, and he finds that he is reluctant to go anywhere. They hang around idly, as though they are teenage lovers forced to part ways and unwilling to go home. Leonard “lives” only 18 metres from Spock's quarters. This is the deciding factor in his putting a stop to their waiting, and he attempts to lead Leonard back towards their beam up coordinates.

A slight touch to his shoulder stays him.

“Spock.” He turns and suppresses a shudder at the sight of those clear blue eyes holding his. “Spock, I... Didn't say earlier, but I meant to ask...”

Spock would tease and cajole, but he senses the Leonard considers his question too important or serious to be made light of. Spock's colour vision is poor in these light levels, but he believes the doctor to be blushing.

“Would you... Kiss me?” Leonard breaks their eye contact and looks away, letting the palm resting lightly on Spock's shoulder fall away. “Not that, you know, you have to, I mean, even if you liked the date, it doesn't mean-”

“I will kiss you, Leonard.” He talks over the stream of words.

“Yeah?” The eyes are back on him, hopeful.

“Yes.” Spock tells him, because he needs to hear it, and closes the gap between them.

He is not familiar with kissing, either. Leonard's lips are soft and warm, and Spock believes he must take good care of them. The kiss is not a single press of lips, but a series of them, and they are louder than he had through they might be, wetter.

He enjoys kissing very much. Leonard smells of “masculine” cologne and his own smell and of milky coffee. Spock's hand moves out unbidden to find the other man's fingers and to stroke them, and he believes this to be the most intimate he has ever been with another, outside of the broader contact of a mind meld.

And then Leonard does something unexpected, and Spock draws back in surprise.

“Spock?” The doctor asks, uncertain.

Spock tries to phrase himself delicately. “I believe you may have inadvertently...” His mind is blank. “Attempted to lick the inside of my mouth.”

He expects embarrassment or anger – and knowing Leonard McCoy, the latter always accompanied the former – but instead, the other man laughs. His teeth are quite white against the dark.

“Leonard?” Spock dislikes being on the margins of human humour; he is even more discontent with the human predilection for actively excluding him from it and refusing to explain something.

“I guess no one would've told you that human kissing comes with tongues, would they?” Leonard grins at him.

No, they had not. “It is not logical,” He protests, beginning to feel embarrassed himself.

“It's plenty logical,” Leonard waves his statement aside. “It probably comes from kiss feeding. Human parents and their ancestors right up the mammal family tree used to chew up food before passing it to their babies mouth to mouth. Helps predigest it and passes pathogens between the two people so that people build up an immunity to the same things their loved ones are carrying.”

“Loved ones” sends an unidentified thrill up Spock's spine. Still, “You were attempting to feed me? I can assure you I have eaten adequately.”

They begin walking back to their beam up point. “Now you're jus' being obtuse,” Leonard admonishes. “There ain't many human societies left that practice kiss feeding now that they can just replicate baby food, and since globalisation spread ideas of French kissing being sexualised.”

“I see.” Spock is uncertain of the connection with France, but there is a logic, he supposes.

They reach the beam up point and the good doctor takes out his communicator to hail the ship.

“Perhaps,” Spock begins before he can flip it open. “Perhaps you could demonstrate to me how the French kiss?”

For educational reasons. And because it is apparently logical. And because Leonard desired it. And Spock desires it.

Leonard raises his eyebrow and then drops it again, smiling. “Well, someone had to show you.”

He leans in and there is more of the clashing of soft lips and more urgent little kisses. This time, when Leonard's tongue darts out and over his bottom lip, it is less of a surprise and Spock allows it, opens his mouth to let it in. Leonard runs it over his teeth and slides it against his own tongue, tasting of coffee and iron.

Once Leonard has kissed his breath away, Spock pulls back. He reaches out for Leonard's hand again, index and middle finger pressed together. “This is how Vulcans kiss,” He says, and the doctor lets himself be kissed without protest, sneaking a last human peck to the corner of Spock's mouth.

“Did you like the human one?”

“I believe so.” He is not sure; but he is certain that he wants to be precisely that close to Leonard. “Let us go home.”


End file.
